


To Be Securely Held

by neveralarch



Series: Banners from the Turrets/The Servant Has No Such Ambition [11]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Caretaking, Imprisonment, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 22:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: The Autobots have captured most of the Decepticon high command: Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, and some little orange guy. Rang, Rung, something like that. Jazz keeps forgetting his name.





	To Be Securely Held

**Author's Note:**

> Another timeline of the Decepticon Rung AU, branching off shortly after [Overlooking the Lake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390032). Once again, this was plotted with [DesdemonaKaylose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose), then written with her inspiring encouragement :)
> 
> This fic contains violence, anxiety/claustrophobia, kissing, and sexual imagery. Please let me know if you need details.

The security footage was high-quality, but the sound wasn't very good. Red Alert's many, many complaints about the poor microphone coverage in the corridors were proving founded. The incident had taken place in a dead zone, with only some audio from a few distant doorways.

Prowl didn't need sound to understand what had led to the incident. There was an intersection of corridors leading from the interrogation rooms to the holding cells. Megatron was being ushered toward that intersection on his way back to his cell. He was in stasis cuffs, accompanied by five guards led by Ironhide. All proper procedure.

Coming from the other direction was Starscream, also in cuffs, also accompanied by five guards led by Sideswipe.

Prowl paused the video. "Why were Megatron and Starscream in transit at the same time?"

"Miscommunication." Jazz leaned back in his chair. "Optimus finished his chat with Megatron right when you pulled Starscream to interrogation. There was a different detail for each escort, and neither of them commed ahead. I already stripped Ironhide and Sideswipe's paint over it, but if you wanna put the fear of Unicron into them—"

"Hm." Prowl drummed his fingers against his desk. "Red Alert should have redirected them before they reached the intersection."

"Mirage had just kicked him out of the security hub for recharge and energon." Jazz spread his hands, what-can-you-do. "I scolded Mirage for bad shift change etiquette, but apparently Red Alert took some prying. By the time Mirage had full control of the hub, Megatron was already tearing mechs apart."

Prowl started the video again. Megatron glanced down the corridor and caught Starscream's optics. Neither of them reacted, even though they hadn't seen each other in the quartex since they'd been captured. Prowl had been very clear that neither Megatron, Starscream, nor Soundwave would be permitted to encounter each other. He preferred to keep them isolated from Decepticons entirely, but the Envoy was currently a crowded ship and occasionally efficiency outweighed the small security risk from the less prestigious prisoners.

That was why there was a _third_ prisoner nearing the intersection, being taken from the medium-security block to the medbay by two guards.

Prowl paused the video again and studied the small rust-orange mech. "Who is this?"

Jazz stood and came around the desk so he could see the viewscreen. Prowl got the sense that Jazz was playing for time. Unlike him not to have all of the relevant information in his RAM.

"Rang," Jazz said at last. "Or Rung. There's a couple designations in his file. He's a medic of some kind. We picked him up with the rest of the mechs in the med tent, once the battle was all over. We don't have his rank or title. Not much information about him at all."

Prowl didn't like that. Rang/Rung carried himself with too much confidence to be a lowly grunt, which meant they were missing something important. "What was he doing out?"

"Providing patient records to Ratchet." Jazz reached around Prowl's side and opened a new viewscreen with footage from the medbay, showing Ratchet and Rung/Rang in an animated conversation. "A couple of the prisoners have chronic conditions—coding, hardware, bad upgrades. Rung—yeah, I think it's Rung—he's got their full treatment history."

Prowl looked between the viewscreens, noting what wasn’t there. "No cuffs."

"Ratchet threw a tantrum." Jazz hunched his shoulders and scowled, voice lowering in imitation of Ratchet's growling tones. "You're gonna cut off his circulation! He's a medical professional, not a war criminal. Get those things off him!"

Prowl suppressed a sigh. He couldn't blame Rung's guards for complying, despite the clear violation of regulations. There was only so much you could do when Ratchet rebelled against basic safety precautions.

Jazz was still standing at Prowl's side, close enough that Prowl could hear the slight whirr of Jazz's fans and the clicking of his processor. Prowl waited a moment to see if Jazz would return to his seat, but apparently Jazz had decided he wanted to watch the rest of the incident on the viewscreen.

The corridor footage resumed with Rung entering the intersection. Starscream and Megatron noticed him at the same time, both of them still a few meters away. There were no muted reactions this time—Megatron's optics widened, and Starscream's wings jerked upright. Then they looked at each other, optics meeting over Rung's helm.

Several things happened at once. Prowl watched it at full speed once, then went back and replayed it at half speed to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Megatron snapped his cuffs, the thick block of metal splitting down the middle to free his hands. Starscream spun, his wings bashing into Sideswipe's neck. Megatron picked up Ironhide and threw him into two other guards. Starscream used his heavy cuffed wrists as a bludgeon, caving in one guard's helm and breaking another's elbow. Megatron ripped one guard's left leg off, and snapped another's wrist.

"This is when Mirage took command of the security hub and realized what was happening," said Jazz. "He called back-up, but they took about three times as long to scramble as they should have. I'm already planning random security drills for the next cyberweek."

"Good." Prowl flicked a doorwing against Jazz's chest. "We need stronger stasis cuffs." 

"No kidding." Jazz tapped his helm, always one step ahead. "Wheeljack's already working on it, he'll have some prototypes to show you by end of shift."

Megatron and Starscream worked their way methodically through the guards, not leaving a mech standing on their way to the intersection. Rung's guards were on their comms, calling for the back-up that was already on its way. Rung himself looked anxious, his hands twisted together and his mouth open as he called something. Prowl tried the audio.

"Don't...You don't...Hurt any..."

Prowl switched it off again. "Do we know what he was saying?"

Jazz shrugged. "All of our mechs are still in the medbay. No fatalities, but no one in a state to talk either. We'll probably be able to get some reports next shift, once Ratchet lets a couple of them up from sedation."

Starscream and Megatron had reached the intersection. Megatron threw one of Rung’s guards against the wall, while Starscream tackled the other to the ground. While Starscream was occupied, Megatron swept Rung up into his arms and—

Prowl rewound the video again. He hadn't believed it the first time, and he was still struggling the third time around.

Megatron kissed Rung, deeply and thoroughly. His hands rested on Rung's aft, easily supporting Rung's weight. At first Rung seemed startled, grabbing Megatron's shoulders as if he were worried he might fall. In slow motion you could see the moment when he relaxed into the kiss, his arms coming up to curl around Megatron's neck instead. 

They looked like nothing more than reunited sweetsparks. If you ignored the injured Autobots strewn across the corridors, and the one remaining guard still grappling with Starscream at Megatron’s feet. 

Prowl paused the video. "How did we miss this?"

Jazz looked embarrassed. "I have seven pentabytes of recent intel, and about two kilobytes of it even mentions Rung. Add a kilobyte about _Rang_ , and I've still got basically nothing."

That didn't make Prowl happy, but there wasn't anything to do about it. He restarted the video and watched as Starscream rolled away from his downed guard and kicked out, sweeping Megatron's legs out from under him. Megatron went down heavily and landed on his back, curling to protect his helm and Rung's frame. He quickly returned to kissing Rung, seemingly determined to ignore Starscream's interference. Starscream was equally determined. He crawled over Megatron's thighs and seized Rung's chin in both of his cuffed hands, turning Rung's face away from Megatron. Megatron snarled something and tried to pull Rung back, but Starscream kneed him in the panel, hard enough to make Prowl’s own panel ache in sympathy. And then Starscream was kissing Rung, sharp and possessive. Sweetsparks again.

Prowl looked at Jazz.

"I'm telling you, we've got nothing!" Jazz shifted from embarrassed to defensive. "The only Decepticon medic with any real profile is their CMO, and his file is a mess. Tons of wild rumors—he's a mnemosurgeon, he's a telepath, he erases emotions, you know the kind of nonsense soldiers come up with. Six different designations, and they don't match anything in the Functionist databases. We think he's operating under an assumed identity, but—"

"Are any of those assumed designations 'Rong?'" asked Prowl. "Or 'Ring?' Or something equally obvious?"

Jazz's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again as he swore creatively and at length. Prowl returned to the video.

Megatron had given up on trying to repossess Rung's mouth, after Starscream had reinforced his claim with a few elbows to Megatron's face. Now Megatron was sucking along Rung's prominent neck cables. His hands stroked down Rung's abdomen, drawing teasingly close to Rung's interface panel before stroking upward again. Rung was beginning to pant, his optics dimming behind his glasses as Starscream tried and failed to coax him into another kiss. Finally Rung broke off entirely to hide his face against Starscream's shoulder. Starscream dug his talons into Megatron's arms in retaliation, but Megatron didn't even flinch. He just rocked his thigh, stroking it against Starscream's groin and making Starscream's wings shudder.

There was a sudden increase in both heat and noise from Prowl's side.

"Your fans are going," observed Prowl.

"I've got a functioning interface system," said Jazz, tightly. "Unlike some mechs I could name."

Prowl frowned and paused the video again. It just so happened to be at what 'functioning' mechs might consider the most tantalizing moment, when Megatron's hand finally brushed against Rung's panel and you could actually see the release catch trembling. Starscream had ducked down to mouth along the rim of Rung's spark window, leaving the security cameras with a perfect view of Rung's expression, completely open and desperate.

Jazz groaned. "You sparkeater, I don't want this slag in my processor. I'm going to have the weirdest defrags tonight."

"What are we going to do with this?" Prowl gestured at the screen, incidentally drawing attention to where Starscream was now grinding his panel against Megatron's plating.

"I hate you," muttered Jazz, and then he straightened up and averted his gaze from the screen. "I got some ideas."

"I'm sure you do," said Prowl. "Anything from your tactical module, or only the fantasy circuits?"

Jazz glared. "Oh, I'll show you tactics. Give me some time with our favorite guests and I'll blow your circuits out of orbit."

"I look forward to it," said Prowl, and started the video again.

All three of the prisoners were disappointed when the back-up arrived to pull them apart before Rung's panel actually opened. Jazz looked like he wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

\---

"Go away," said Megatron. "I'm not interested in listening to your lies."

Jazz put a hand on his chest, mock offended, but he didn't follow orders. Megatron hadn't been able to order anyone to do anything since he was captured on the battlefield at Tesarus along with the rest of the prisoners. Jazz intended to keep it that way.

Jazz leaned in, letting the light from the forcefield flare across his visor. "I have a deal for you. A little something in exchange for your cooperation."

Megatron sneered. "The only thing I want is your processor crushed in my fist."

"Very vivid. Right out of your old pamphlets." Jazz cocked his helm. "What about a conjugal visit? What would that get me?"

Megatron looked honest-to-Primus bewildered. "What?"

"You give me the codes to the Nemesis' security system, and I'll give you," Jazz made a show of considering it, almost blaring the implication that he could be haggled with, "a joor with your pretty orange CMO. Alone. Bet you could get into his panels in five kliks flat without Starscream there to distract you."

"No." Megatron's confusion was quickly morphing to anger. "Go _away_."

"Aw, come on." Jazz smiled ingratiatingly. "We're going to get into the system eventually. You really think Shockwave can hold the fort alone when we've got you and Soundwave in lockdown? You'll just be speeding up the process a little. I'm sure your beau will appreciate your sacrifice, if it means he doesn't have to spend another lonely shift wishing a big strong tyrant would come along and fill his—"

Megatron's fists slammed into the forcefield. It hissed and sparked, but held. At least Wheeljack had done good work on that.

"Hit a relay?" asked Jazz. "Sorry. Just thinking out loud."

"The thought," growled Megatron, "that I will be _allowed_ to see Rung, that he is to be rented to me like _chattel_ —"

Oh, slag, Jazz had been wrong. Megatron was still pressing against the forcefield, his whole weight pushing into it even though it must hurt like the pit. And it looked like it was starting to _give_ , just a little.

Jazz skipped backwards, letting his smile slide into apologetic. "Okay, point made. No chattel, no visits, let's talk again soon."

Megatron managed to get a knuckle through just as Jazz closed the duratanium door that sealed the cell off from the rest of the block.

 **Jazz:** Jackie, we need a better forcefield for cell Iota-Six

 **Wheeljack:** That's the best forcefield the galaxy's ever seen, forget it. It's a miracle of physics.

 **Jazz:** Fine, but it's not holding up to Megatron.

 **Wheeljack:** I'm _working_ on the cuffs, you don't gotta hurry me along by making up new problems

 **Jazz:** He was halfway to putting his hands around my throat, mech.

 **Wheeljack:** Seriously?

 **Wheeljack:** ...Fragging glitch.

 **Red Alert:** Please use professional language when discussing work matters.

 **Wheeljack:** Go away, Red, this is a private comm line!

 **Red Alert:** It's not private if it's being used for official business.

 **Wheeljack:** Jazz, tell Red Alert to buzz off.

 **Red Alert:** Jazz isn't my commander. Jazz, tell Wheeljack you’re not my commander.

Jazz muted his comm and looked back into the cell through the tiny one-way crystal window. Megatron had finally surrendered to the miracle of physics and was pulling his hand back from the forcefield. He still looked furious, but more of it seemed to be directed at himself than Jazz. As Jazz watched, Megatron turned away from the window and slapped his thigh hard enough to make his plating ring. He probably hadn't meant to show his hand (haha) with the forcefield this early. If Megatron had waited, spent some time training his tolerance and learning the forcefield's weak points, he might have actually been able to do some damage before Jazz could retreat.

Jazz hadn't gotten a deal, but he hadn't really expected one. Getting a reaction like that, now, that told him he was onto something big.

\---

"A deal," repeated Rung thoughtfully. "I can't imagine that I have any especially useful information."

"Please." Jazz smiled to show he was in on the joke. "The Decepticon CMO doesn't know anything interesting? You're practically high command."

Something flicked over Rung's face. Jazz didn't like that he couldn't read Rung's expressions. He wanted to confiscate the glasses, see if it got him anywhere, but he was saving that in case he needed to escalate later.

"I wondered if you knew." Rung glanced around the relatively low-security cell—the electrified bars and the lightly padded walls. "It almost seemed as if you'd, hmm. Forgotten."

"We'd never forget you." Jazz slid closer to the bars. "This is all out of respect, mech. Ratchet keeps telling us you're a real professional."

Rung watched Jazz for a long time, while Jazz kept his face easy and his hands relaxed. Primus, he hated those glasses. He could see his reflection in them. If they ever moved this to an interrogation room, Jazz was going to make a three-act production out of smashing them.

"Information," said Rung. "And in exchange you'd give me what, exactly?"

"Which one's your favorite?" asked Jazz.

Rung leaned back and raised an optic ridge. "I'm sorry?"

"Bucket-head or Screamer?" Jazz opened his hands, raising them in turn as he weighed the options. "I bet Megatron is _thick_ , tell me if I'm wrong. But Starscream probably frags like he's got something to prove, as hard and as deep as you're willing to beg for. Tough decision, I don't envy you. Well, maybe a bit."

"Oh." Rung's fans kicked up, just for the klik it took before he got himself back under control. "I don't pick favorites."

"That's a shame." Jazz tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I don't think I can swing both at once—security risk, go figure. Maybe you can take turns? Every time you give us something good, I can give you, I don't know, half a joor with the stud of your choice."

"I see." Rung's expression flickered again. Jazz thought this one was _amused_. Forget the glasses, everything about Rung was driving him nuts. Jazz had to record his observations in deep storage right away or they tried to slide out of his processor, like Rung was just so unassuming that his whole existence was always threatening to disappear. Jazz felt like he was trying to climb a glass wall with fuzzy mittens on.

"We got a deal?" asked Jazz.

"No," said Rung. "I'm afraid we don't."

"Aw, come on." Jazz's tactical module cycled through twelve different follow-ups before hitting on something he thought might work. "It's not like you'd be betraying the cause, would it? We know you're not a true believer. You never even took the brand. You could help end the war, get us closer to peace and reconciliation one hook-up at a time."

That got a nice reaction—Rung didn't say anything for a long time, just frowned and looked at the wall above Jazz's helm, like he was really considering it. "No," he said at last, almost regretful. "I'll share medical records with Ratchet, but I won't betray Megatron to you."

"Gotcha." Jazz smirked. "He's your favorite."

"I wouldn't betray Starscream either," corrected Rung. "But that's not what you're asking for, is it?"

\---

Jazz leaned back against the wall, watching Starscream pace in the little cell behind the forcefield. "What's the appeal?"

Megatron would have demanded an explanation. Rung would have politely asked for one. Starscream just stopped and pasted on a particularly slimy grin. "Smaller frame means a tighter valve. I'm sure you're intimately familiar with the concept."

"Aw, come on." Jazz watched Starscream's wings jitter with the effort of holding still. "That's it? That's why you were brawling with Megatron over the little guy?"

Starscream shrugged. "Are you really here for _gossip_? Autobot intelligence has fallen so low."

Jazz waited. Eventually Starscream lost the struggle with himself and started to pace again, seven steps back and forth, back and forth. Ratchet had been on Prowl about getting Starscream either a larger cell or some rec time—apparently it was hard on flightframe coding to be locked up in a tight space, same way Jazz started to itch if he couldn't drive. Prowl had cited security and limited resources, so Ratchet had grudgingly given him a few more orns to work something out.

Jazz hoped it never got worked out. Starscream was a lot easier to deal with when his processor was half-melted from claustrophobia.

"You want to see him?" asked Jazz.

Starscream didn't stop moving this time. "I want out of this box."

"Can't do anything about that." Jazz pushed some sympathy into his tone. "But I can bring your sweetspark to you. Let him brighten your box a little."

Starscream snorted, and his optics flicked to the security cameras in every corner of the room. "You just want a free show."

"Privacy can be arranged." Jazz took a risk and crept a little closer to the forcefield. "He'd be all yours for, oh, let's say a joor with cameras on, half a joor with them off. No Megatron to compete with. No guards rushing in if you get a little... enthusiastic. You do us a favor, we'll do one for you."

Starscream's next seven steps took him along the edge of the forcefield, over-bright optics peering down at Jazz's face. Jazz looked up, making it easy for Starscream to see his eagerness to make a deal.

Fourteen steps. Twenty-one. Twenty-eight. Starscream didn't look any closer to caving.

Thirty-five.

"He's cute," said Jazz. "Delicate. I love the spark window, don't you? Makes me want to just rub my cheeks all over it. Or—you ever try riding it? You know, his back on the berth, you straddling his chest with your panel open, grinding your valve against that smooth glass. Does he look any less smug when he's got lubricant dripping through his seams?"

Starscream stopped again, and for a klik Jazz thought he was going to try shoving his fist through the forcefield too. But then Starscream's expression smoothed out and his hands relaxed, all poise and control except for his jittering wingtips.

"A joor," said Starscream. "Cameras _off_. And I'll give you Deadlock's last known location and comm frequency."

"Deal," said Jazz, careful to let only about half of his excitement show. "You have to spill first, though."

Starscream's optics flickered across the room, but there still wasn't any way out. "You won't tell Megatron."

"Mech, what do you take me for?" Jazz held a hand to his chest, hurt by the implication. "I protect my sources."

"No, I mean," Starscream covered his earnestness with a sneer. "Don't make Megatron this offer. I want Rung to myself, let my fearless leader rot in his cell alone."

"No problem." Jazz smiled, victorious at last. "Now, about Deadlock..."

\---

"'I love the spark window,'" said Prowl, when Jazz returned to Prowl's office.

"I don't want to hear it." Jazz dropped into the guest chair.

"I didn't particularly want to hear your lewd fantasies either." Prowl flicked through security cameras, watching the guards usher Rung from his cell down to the high security block. "And I thought you didn't want that slag in your processor."

"Work Jazz is different from fun Jazz, you know that. And those lewd fantasies just got you a Decepticon commander and three kill squads." Jazz looked a little exasperated. Prowl wondered if this expression was real or as much for show as the ones Jazz had worn for the Decepticons. 

"Thunderclash is still en route to Dabola," pointed out Prowl. "I'll trust Starscream's information when I see the results."

"You trust Starscream enough to give him his fragbuddy," said Jazz.

"Yes." Prowl watched Rung try to talk to the guards. They obeyed orders and ignored him, probably aware of the cameras following their every step. "His cute, smug, lonely little fragbuddy."

"Get slagged," snapped Jazz, and then took a few deep vents. "All right," he said, once he had himself under control. "It might have got into my processor a little. Don't say fragbuddy all deadpan like that, it's weird."

Prowl ignored the inane comment and focused on what was really important: making Jazz uncomfortable. "He has a designation, you know."

Jazz didn't respond. Prowl smiled to himself as Rung was let into Starscream's cell, the guards closing the duratanium door behind him. Rung stepped up to the forcefield, and Starscream stepped back as he'd been instructed. The forcefield was deactivated, just for a moment, and Rung stepped into Starscream's space. Starscream looked at the door, weighing his options, but the forcefield came up again before he reached any decision.

Perfectly executed. Prowl couldn't believe Ratchet wanted him to sacrifice security for 'prisoner welfare.'

"Starscream." Rung reached a hand out to him. They had good audio in the cells, helped by the limited space and excellent acoustics. Prowl turned up the volume enough that Jazz could hear from the other side of the desk, even if he couldn't see the viewscreen clearly.

Starscream caught Rung's hand and held a finger up to Rung's lips. "Cameras," he said, glaring at the offending machines. "Cameras _off_ , Jazz, or you won't get another deal."

Prowl sent a quick comm to Red Alert, and the four security cameras in the corners of the cell shut down, their lenses dropping to point at the ground. Just as arranged.

The fifth camera stayed on. The one hidden in the light fixture. The one sending crystal clear footage and audio to Prowl's viewscreen.

Prowl wasn't sure if this would work. Under normal circumstances, Starscream's next move would be to destroy the light, either with a hidden weapon or an improvised missile. That would counter Prowl's current move, but it would advance the game. Once he knew Starscream's full capabilities, Prowl would be able to effectively neutralize them.

But Starscream just sighed when the decoy cameras shut down, and his optics dimmed. As if he couldn't make the effort to keep them online. Prowl was _never_ putting him in a bigger cell.

"Starscream," repeated Rung, and this time Starscream didn't silence him. "You look awful."

"Nice to see you too," said Starscream dryly. He hadn't let go of Rung's hand, and his wings were trembling. "I'm fine."

"Have they given you any rec time?" Rung stepped closer, peering up into Starscream's face. "Or given you a simulator? I told Ratchet—"

"I'm _fine_." Starscream snarled, and Rung winced like Starscream had squeezed his hand a little too hard. "If Megatron can take it, so can I."

"Megatron was constructed for mining," said Rung, patiently. "You were constructed for flight, and you don't have the right circuitry for long-term confinement in such a small space. It's not a weakness."

"Stop pestering me," said Starscream. "I got you here for a reason, not so you could fuss."

"All right." Rung smiled. "Shall I sit down while you tell me all about your brilliant escape plan?"

Starscream froze. Prowl couldn't see his expression when Starscream was looking down at Rung, but his wings were frozen in place and his back had stiffened. "Yes," Starscream gritted out, after too many kliks. "Yes. The plan."

Jazz giggled, and Prowl gestured at him to stop. This was too important for distractions.

"The plan." Starscream tugged Rung over to the berth, pushing him to sit on it before finally releasing Rung’s hand. "The plan. Yes."

"Be quiet, Jazz," hissed Prowl. Apparently Jazz was in the grips of a hysteric episode, because the giggling didn't cease. At least Jazz still had the self-control to muffle it behind his hand.

"The _plan_ ," said Starscream. "Is. The plan."

"Starscream?" Rung tried to stand up, but Starscream was looming over him, blocking both of their faces from the camera. "Starscream, you're going into a loop."

"I'm trying to _tell_ you." Starscream's wings finally broke out of their locked state, flicking up in irritation. "About my brilliant escape plan."

"He doesn't have one," said Jazz, his voicebox struggling to push out the words around the laughter. "Oh, Prowl, we've _got_ him. He was so desperate to see the little guy he didn't even think about making a play."

"Hush!" Prowl was still watching Starscream's wings, trying to divine Starscream's exact mental state from every poorly-controlled tremor. 

"We'll say you're ill," said Starscream, in a rush. "Some fast-acting virus. I'll shout for help, the guards will come running in, maybe they'll bring Ratchet, if you're already talking to him then he should be easy to trick, we can take him hostage and—"

"Why don't you sit down?" asked Rung.

Starscream's voicebox cut off, but he didn't move.

"Right here." Rung patted the berth. "Right next to me."

"I thought you were dead." Starscream's voice was thin and edged with uncomfortably pitchy feedback. "I thought you were _dead_ , Rung."

Rung hummed and took both of Starscream's hands, gently guiding Starscream to where Rung wanted him to be. Starscream moved in small jerky increments, as if he didn't know how his limbs worked anymore. He was still talking in that painful tone of voice.

"It was in the last report. During the battle. A missile struck the med tent, or near the med tent, Megatron had just sent me aloft to verify when our position was overrun. I killed three of the Autobots, but they still managed to bring me down, I couldn't see what had happened."

Rung had finally cajoled Starscream into sitting, just with murmurs and light touches, never interrupting the flow of words. Now Rung moved his hands to Starscream's shoulders and swung one leg over Starscream's thighs to straddle his lap. 

"I asked for you," said Starscream. "Nothing revealing. Just if the CMO and his staff had been captured. But the guards said no. And I thought, I thought you were, and I was stuck in this little box, and you were—" 

"But I'm not," said Rung. "I'm right here."

Starscream's arms curled around Rung's waist, holding him in place. His vents were too shallow and too fast, but they slowed as Rung leaned on him, not moving, just being there.

"Megatron is such an idiot.” Starscream’s voice sounded a little more like the irritating rasp everyone knew and loathed. “Breaking his cuffs just because he saw you in the corridor. They're going to put him in shackles from shoulders to wrists, now. _He_ won’t be able to touch you."

Rung chuckled. "You shouldn't have fought either. But I was glad to see you both."

Starscream tilted his helm back, looking archly down at Rung. "You missed me more, didn't you?"

"Both of you," said Rung, firmly. "It felt so good, the three of us together, Megatron's hands on me while you and I kissed, and your cockpit sliding against my back as you rode Megatron's thigh..."

Starscream squirmed, and Rung shifted in Starscream's lap in response, his hands coming up to hold the sides of Starscream's helm. They rocked together for a few kliks, panels closed but brushing against each other. It didn't look like interfacing, not frantic or rough. Just the movement of two frames that knew each other very well, giving comfort to the sparks that inhabited them.

Starscream looked up at the light, his optics dimming with something softer than exhaustion.

"Feeling better?" asked Rung.

"No," said Starscream, sullenly. "I hate this."

"I know, darling." Rung pressed a kiss to Starscream's cheek. "I'll get you a flight simulator at least, I promise."

"No, I don't—" Starscream snarled as his voicebox cut out, then tried again. "I don't care about the _size_ of the cell. I hate all of this. We're not allowed to lose."

"Maybe this is an opportunity," said Rung, soothingly. "Optimus Prime is on board, and Ratchet tells me he's been talking to Megatron about peace terms."

"Megatron will never agree to terms," said Starscream, and there was that whining feedback again. "We're supposed to win!"

Rung was still rocking his hips, coaxing Starscream to follow the gentle rhythm. No one said anything more, but Starscream's face gradually smoothed, losing the tightness of anxiety and anger. 

"Your fans are going," murmured Jazz.

Prowl nearly jumped out of his chair, and he cursed himself for the weakness. He'd been too caught up in—in observing. He hadn't even noticed Jazz creeping around the desk to stand right behind Prowl's doorwings. 

"Is that the kind of thing you like?" Jazz leaned a little closer, his bumper against Prowl's doors. "You want to tame a flighty killer to hand?"

Prowl shook his head, but he didn't pull away. He didn't look away from the viewscreen either, but that was right, that was proper. He was supposed to be observing.

"No, I see." Jazz spoke right into Prowl's audial. "You want to be _tamed_. No messy, complicated interfacing. Just someone talking to you, holding you down, telling you everything will be okay. Forcing your processor to quiet down."

Rung had guided Starscream down to press his helm against Rung's chest, to bury his face in that strong plating. Now Rung was stroking Starscream's helm, his hips moving slower and slower until they were just barely shifting in time with Starscream's deep vents. 

Prowl felt his back arching to bring more of his plating in contact with Jazz. "Don’t. I'm not one of your targets." 

"Oh, no." Jazz ghosted a hand against the nape of Prowl's neck. "Targets are for work Jazz. But fun Jazz wants to get you back for all those weird defrags he's been having when he recharges."

"It's not my fault if you want Megatron to frag you." Prowl should have stopped this. Instead he found himself leaning into the touch, encouraging Jazz's fingers to curl around his neck. "Or if you want to frag Starscream. Or do whatever disgusting thing you want to do with Rung."

"Those aren't the defrags I'm talking about." Jazz put some weight into his grip, like he could hold Prowl still with just one hand. "I mean the ones starring a certain handsome enforcer.”

“Does fun Jazz have many of those?” asked Prowl. He didn’t particularly want to know the details, but he liked the idea of Jazz thinking about him, unable to put Prowl out of his processor even in recharge.

Jazz chuckled. “I've been hitting on you for ages, mech, and you didn't even bother with a rejection. I thought you just didn't like me—the gossip is that you don’t like anyone. But maybe I was just making the wrong kind of offer."

Starscream rubbed his cheeks against Rung's chest, his face lit blue. The camera could only catch glimpses of his expression, but he looked calm. Almost serene, if Starscream could manage serenity.

"You think it's a real spark window, or just a biolight?" Jazz's engine rumbled against Prowl's doors. "Doesn't matter. I don't need props to give you what you need."

 **Red Alert:** Please refrain from interfacing during your shift.

Prowl jerked upright, pulling away from Jazz's bumper and hands and seductive voice. "I apologize."

"We weren't interfacing!" Jazz shook a fist at the disapproving security camera in the corner of Prowl's office. "Red, I'm going to kill you."

 **Red Alert:** Threats will get you nowhere good, Jazz.

"Nevertheless, this is extremely unprofessional," said Prowl. "Let's refocus on the prisoners."

"It's just soft-core porn." Jazz glanced at the viewscreen and then waved a hand in dismissal. "Super soft-core. At least we know Starscream will give us the goods in exchange for cuddles."

"Hmm." Prowl wanted to keep watching. He thought it was for intelligence purposes, but there was also the possibility of baser motivations. It was pointless to try to be an observer if he was compromised.

Prowl deeply wanted to be compromised. It was an unusual feeling, for him, and one that he was interested in pursuing. Prowl glanced back at Jazz. Smaller, denser Jazz, who would fit so well in Prowl’s lap and pin Prowl securely in place.

Prowl made a decision.

"Red Alert, please continue to monitor the prisoners and inform me if there are any major developments. Jazz and I are going off-shift."

"Oh, are we?" Jazz's visor flared. "Your quarters or mine?"

 **Red Alert:** Prowl's quarters have better camera coverage.

" _Not_ what I was asking, mech. Don’t you have anyone else to bother?"

 **Red Alert:** Prowl, please inform Jazz that he’s not my commander.

“ _Prowl_ is your commander! Prowl, tell Red Alert to—“

"Megatron won't negotiate," mumbled Starscream on the viewscreen, unnoticed by the now-bickering Autobots. "Not unless he's backed into a corner. Not unless he _knows_ we've lost."

"Shh." Rung soothed Starscream again, one hand on Starscream's helm and the other rubbing the base of Starscream's wings. "We’ll worry about that later. Just relax and let me hold you."

“I’m holding _you_.”

“All right.” Rung smiled, though neither Starscream nor the camera could see it. “Then relax and let me be held.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, consider sharing it on [Tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/184720784604/to-be-securely-held-neveralarch-the), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1125868781585293315), or [Dreamwidth](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/99877.html).


End file.
